


in another life

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Gen, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: In an alternate universe, Sandra leaves Gordon. She takes Liv with her and drops Aaron off with Chas and Paddy in Emmerdale. (Or, basically just an excuse to write Aaron&Paddy.)Update:Bonus angsty/romantic teenage!Aaron/mechanic!Robert snippet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I wrote this I had big plans for a long, plotty AU. Alas, that's not going to happen. But I rescued it from the fanfic graveyard and turned it into a two-chapter story which I hope you'll enjoy! :) Please beware the self-harm tag, as it's described quite detailed in chapter two.

“Here we are,” Sandra announces, her voice just a bit too cheerful.

Without her make-up on and with the skin around her left eye all dark and puffy, she looks like a stranger. Swallowing hard, Aaron looks away, staring out through the car window instead. The village looks just like he remembers it. The same old main street, framed by the same old stone buildings. There’s the bus stop, there’s the phone box and there’s the pub. Chas, he imagines with a shiver, will be just like he remembers her too. 

“You could take me with you,” he mutters, still staring out through the window. “I’d be good, I promise.” 

They both know that he’s lying. After all, if Aaron knew how to be good then they’d all still be at home, putting up Christmas decorations and eating mince pies. 

“I know,” Sandra says all the same, her voice gentle. As if she’s talking to Liv rather than her sixteen-year-old step-son. “I remember how good you can be, love. But I can’t. You know that I can’t.” 

“Yeah,” Aaron forces out, digging his fingers into his arms. “Yeah, alright.” 

In the backseat, Liv stirs. She’s been fast asleep for most of the trip, her saliva-damp thumb brushing against her mouth. 

She’s a chubby little thing, Aaron’s sister, a baffling creature with messy pigtails and sticky hands. Always whining about one thing or another. Always telling on him and getting him into trouble. And Aaron, well, he’s always telling her to get lost; to get out of his room, out of his way, out of his life. He ought to be happy to see the last of her. Ought to be celebrating, really. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters, his voice so rough that he barely recognizes it. He fumbles with the door handle, then stumbles outside into the winter night. 

The air’s cold against his face and he takes a deep breath, blinking away the heat behind his eyes. Some of the village cottages have been decorated with strands of Christmas lights. The lights twinkle at him, bright and merry in the darkness. Unclenching his fists, Aaron goes to open the trunk. It’s crammed full of everything which didn’t fit into their suitcases. The ugly living room lamp’s there, resting on top of some gaudy knitted blankets and a pile of photo albums. Out of the lot, only the ratty backpack belongs to Aaron. 

Staring at it, he realizes that he doesn’t even remember what he’s packed. Clean underwear, he thinks. His new trainers. His lighter. 

“I’ll come inside with you,” Sandra tells him. 

She’s snuck up on him and he startles, automatically backing away from her. Something flashes across her face. Something that makes her look old and sad and like maybe she regrets all the times that she stood quietly by as dad had a go at him. Aaron doesn’t have it in him to forgive her though so he just looks away, fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack. 

“They already know that I’m coming,” he points out, hoisting the bag higher over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna go, just go.” 

“I’ll come with you,” she repeats. “I want to speak with your mum.” 

“And say what?” 

In the light of the flickering Christmas candles, Sandra’s black eye looks even worse than he remembers it. Her mouth trembles and her eyes, they’re dark. Aaron imagines that he can’t look much better. Except, unlike her, at least he’s not wearing his bruises where everyone can see them. 

“Same thing as I did on the phone,” she says grimly. “That you can’t stay with him. That she’s not to let him lay a hand on you. That’s she not even to let him into the house.” 

And with that said, Sandra walks up towards the stone cottage, her shoulders squared and her head held high. It’s the same way that she used to walk into Aaron’s classroom for all those parent-teacher conferences. Adjusting his grip on the backpack again, Aaron checks on his sister – still asleep, her thumb now firmly stuck in her mouth, strands of golden hair glued to the side of her face – and trails after her. 

xxx 

The next half an hour passes in a blur. 

His biological mum has hair that’s wild and black, a mouth that’s painted red and manicured hands which wave in the air as she talks. She’s just like Aaron remembers her, fit enough to be on telly and hissing like an angry cat. The moment they’re through the door she descends on Sandra like a one-woman mob while Chas’ new bloke, some mountain of a man with rounded shoulders and wire-frame glasses, hovers awkwardly in the background. 

Aaron stays near the door, keeping a wary eye on them both as he half-listens to Sandra trying to explain why she’s dropping a teenager on their doorstep. 

“I don’t understand,” Chas says for the hundredth time. “On the phone you promised me that you’d explain later. Well, now is later, lady, and you’re not leaving here until you tell me what’s been going on.” 

She’s a head shorter than Sandra, but she somehow still manages to look threatening. The Dingles were all like that, Aaron remembers, recalling a family of quiet men with short temper and bushy beards. Another unwelcome memory scratches its way to the surface; the loud crack of a slap, followed by Aaron’s cheek burning and his dad buckling him into the car while telling him that he’d never see his mum again. 

“I’m leaving Gordon,” Sandra repeats. “As I said, I have family in Ireland. They won’t mind me and Liv staying with them until we get back on our feet. I’d take Aaron with me too if only I could, but-“ 

“The hell you will,” Chas spits back, her voice shrill with anger. “He’s not yours, Sandra, he’s never been yours, alright? Does Gordon even know that you’re running away with his kids?” 

Aaron eyes the door, running through his options. Going back isn’t an option. Not anymore. Glancing around, looking for another escape route, he freezes as he finds the giant boyfriend studying him with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“Did Gordon do that?” the man asks, gesturing to Sandra’s eye. 

The sound of his voice takes Aaron by surprise, the gentle tenor matching poorly with the shovel-sized hands and the broad chest. At the question, Chas stills. She stares at Sandra like she hasn’t noticed the black eye until now. Aaron shifts, but before he can speak, Sandra reaches out to wrap her hand around his arm. She squeezes it gently in warning. 

Be quiet, she’s telling him. Let me handle this. 

“Gordon’s changed,” she says out loud, her voice stronger than he’s heard it in years. “He’s not the man that I thought he was when I married him. It’s not safe for Aaron, or Liv, to be around him anymore.” 

She’s not lying, but she’s not telling the truth either. 

“No,” Chas says, shaking her head. “No, no, Gordon wouldn’t hit a woman.” 

Aaron bites the inside of his mouth until the soft folds give way and his mouth floods with blood. He feels it coat his tongue and gums, and ends up swallowing thickly. 

“You don’t know him like we do,” Sandra replies. “Not anymore. I’m guessing you never did. Because if you had, you wouldn’t have left your son alone with him.” 

Aaron wraps his arms around his chest, ignoring the way that both Chas and her boyfriend are suddenly staring straight at him. Notices though, almost against his will, that Chas has begun to look grey herself. _This is what you do,_ whispers a voice in the back of Aaron’s head. _This is what you do to people. This is how you poison them._ The voice keeps on droning, pulling him under and away. And, just like that, Aaron loses himself for a while. It happens, from time to time, minutes or longer lost to the chaos inside his own head. This time, it takes Sandra’s fingers brushing over his arm to make him blink his way back to reality. 

“Will you come and say goodbye to your sister?” she asks and it hits him that this is it. He's being left behind.

“Aaron?” Sandra prompts and he blinks at her. 

Then, remembering the question, he shakes his head. 

“Of course, he will,” Chas interrupts, her voice brimming with disapproval. 

Sandra doesn’t make him though. She just reaches out for him again, this time to grab hold of his hand. Her fingers feel thin, and her hand’s much smaller than he remembers from the last time they touched like this. 

“I’ll tell her for you,” she says, offering him a small smile as she saves him one last time. “And I’ll call you from Ireland as soon as we’re settled, alright?” 

Aaron pulls his hand free and wraps his arms around his chest. 

“Be good,” she tells him and then, just like that, she’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time that he hears from Sandra, it’s mid-August.

Paddy’s made dinner again and both Chas and Aaron are on their second helping. Chas is on her second glass of red as well and she can’t stop laughing as Paddy tells them about his most recent disaster at work. Her laughs rings loud and shrill but Aaron must be getting used to it, must be getting used to the pair of them, because he finds himself grinning as well. 

“It’s not fair,” Paddy complains, waving his fork at them. “You’re ganging up on me.” 

Drops of tomato sauce fall to the table but nobody cares. Just like nobody in Smithy’s Cottage cared if you spilled your drink, or broke a tea mug, or didn’t finish up your meal. Aaron knows, because he’s tried it. He’s tried it all, tried things a dozen times worse, and so far, nothing’s happened besides Chas shrieking at him and Paddy giving him a disappointed look. 

“That’s the last you’ll ever have of my famous lasagne,” Paddy continues, only everyone knows that he doesn’t mean a word of it. He loves Chas, loves every bit of her, even the sharp pieces that doesn’t fit. And because he loves her so much, he’s made room for Aaron too. 

“Marlon’s recipe, innit?” Chas says, just as Aaron counters with: “ _Infamous,_ you mean?” 

And that’s when the phone rings. 

It’s Paddy who answers and it’s Paddy whose lips turn down in the corners. And, in the end, it’s Paddy who covers the receiver with his big hand and turns to them, frowning like he hadn’t been while they made fun of him just moments earlier, and says: 

“It’s Sandra. She wants to speak to Aaron.” 

xxx 

“You sound good, love.” 

The receiver feels slippery in Aaron’s hand. Chas and Paddy both do their best to pretend that they’re not eavesdropping but Aaron can still feel their eyes, burning holes through the back of his t-shirt. The lasagne rests at the bottom of his belly, heavy like a bag of stones. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call before,” Sandra continues. Her voice sounds tinny and faraway. “I’ve had a lot on my mind. What happened with your dad, it… I haven’t been in a good place. That’s not an excuse though. I should have called earlier. I know. I’m sorry.” 

The silence stretches on and it takes him a moment too long to realize that he’s the one who’s meant to break it. He takes a deep breath. Tries to clear his mind. 

“How’s Liv?” he finally manages to ask. 

He hasn’t thought of his little sister in ages. Has made himself all but forget about her. 

“Liv,” Sandra repeats, like she barely remembers the name. Then she laughs. “Oh, Liv’s fine. My aunts have been spoiling her silly. She’s made some new friends too. We moved out a few weeks ago and she even has her own room again. She’s thrilled.” 

Aaron doesn’t ask if Liv ever talks about him. He just figures that if she’s done the same as him, if Liv’s pushed the past away, all the good and the bad tangled together, if forgetting about dad also meant forgetting about Aaron, well, he’d be a right hypocrite to complain. 

“Are they good to you?” Sandra asks. “Chas and, eh… I’m sorry, I don’t remember his name.” 

He doesn’t know why she sounds so surprised. After all, she had left him with complete strangers. 

“Paddy,” Aaron fills in for her. “His name’s Paddy.” 

Behind him, he can hear the rattle of plates and cutlery. Water begins rushing through the pipes and he imagines the sink filling with hot, soapy water. It’s his turn to clear the table and wash up but apparently Sandra calling has gotten him out of his chores. 

“Paddy,” Sandra repeats. From her voice, it sounds like she might be smiling. “Right. Well, are they?” 

Aaron blinks and tries to focus. 

“Are they what?” 

“Good to you. Your mum and her boyfriend, are they good to you?” 

Half a year ago, he would have answered her with: _‘you’re my mum.’_

“They’re alright,” he mutters now. “Nice.” 

If they hadn’t been – if Chas had turned out to truly be nothing but a quicksilver temper and sharp words, or if Paddy had been the kind of man to use his hands for hurting rather than healing – then Sandra’s question would have come eight months too late to help him anyway. 

“Have you… have you heard from your dad?” 

It’s like a fist reaches into his chest and squeezes his heart. 

All the good things – the warm and bright summer days, the way that Adam Barton laughs and throws his arm around Aaron’s shoulder like they’ve been best mates for years, the strange feeling of belonging that’s come to settle over him as he sits down to eat with Chas and Paddy in the evenings – disappear. And Aaron’s back just where he started, nothing more than a naughty little boy, scared of his dad and with no one to help him. 

“No,” he manages to answer. “No, I haven’t.” 

“I spoke to some friends from back home – you remember Mrs Jones, right? – and she says that-“ 

“Yeah, okay,” Aaron interrupts. “Bye.” 

He hears her call out – _no, Aaron, wait!_ – but he still hangs up on her. Heart pounding and legs shaking, he then dodges Paddy’s reaching hands and Chas’ volley of questions and half-walks, half-runs out the door. 

xxx 

There’s a spot by the river where no one else ever seems to go. A place where Aaron’s come to learn that no one can hear him, no matter how much or loud he shouts. That’s where his legs take him, his body moving on auto-pilot as his thoughts spin uselessly. 

Only as soon as he’s there, grass under his feet and green leaves like a canopy over his head, he’s too drained to do more than just sink down on the ground, back against a crumbling stone wall. Everything that clawed and ripped at his insides earlier, the dark and ugly things that drove him out of the house and away from prying eyes, is gone. It’s gone and it’s taken with it all the good things too, leaving him hollow. Leaving him floating, unanchored. 

Shivering despite the heat, he digs through his pockets for his smokes and a lighter. He lights up the first one, sucking on the filter until the tip of the cigarette glows red. Then he rolls up his sleeve, the fabric dragging against half-healed scabs. Gritting his teeth, he then pushes the glowing tip against his skin. The pain’s dull, not nearly as sharp as it ought to be. Like it’s not Aaron’s skin. Like it’s not Aaron’s body. He shudders and pulls down the sleeve again. 

Later – when the sun’s down and he’s run out of smokes – he sneaks back into the house. 

xxx 

It’s Paddy who comes to check on him in the morning. 

Aaron can tell from the way that the stairs squeak under the man’s weight. Those first few weeks he’d memorized that sound. Had stared at the door handle, body tensing as it prepared for fight or flight. Back then, he’d still been measuring Paddy up over the breakfast table each morning. Had tried to work out if he could take him in a fair fight. Now he knows better. 

“I brought tea,” Paddy calls through the door. “And some toast.” 

“Cheers,” Aaron calls back. “Just leave it. I’ll be down in a bit.” 

Then he peeks out from underneath the duvet as the door swings open. Even in the dim light of his room, he finds that Paddy looks tired. Like maybe he stayed up late last night. Tea sloshes over the edge of the mug as Paddy puts his drink down on the bedside table and, to Aaron’s utter lack of surprise, that leads to Paddy dropping the toast. It lands, butter side down, next to a crumpled pair of old socks. 

“It’s too dark in here,” Paddy complains. “And it absolutely reeks of cigarette smoke. I thought you were going to quit. It’ll stunt your growth, you know that, right? And you’re already on the short side. You keep that filthy habit up and it wouldn’t surprise me if you started shrinking.” 

Paddy keeps rambling – the way that Paddy always rambles, about everything and nothing, like there’s nothing keeping the words from spilling out of his mouth – as he picks his way across Aaron’s cluttered room to pull open the curtains. Light fills the room and Aaron squints, lifting an arm to shield his eyes. He doesn’t realize his mistake – doesn’t connect his action with how Paddy falls suddenly silent or with how he returns to the side of the bed, so much quicker and mindless of the mess on the floor – until Paddy’s right next to him, his thick fingers wrapped around Aaron’s arm. 

Around Aaron’s _bad_ arm. 

“What happened?” he asks. “Who did this to you?” 

He doesn’t sound like a blundering fool anymore. Not at all. 

Aaron stares down at his arm. At the round scars, some old and white, some pink and new. A dozen of the marks haven’t healed yet, though some have begun to scab. And then there’s the cluster of angry blisters, fat and shiny, just inches away from Paddy’s calloused hands. 

“Are those cigarette marks?” Paddy continues, disbelief colouring his voice. “Did someone burn you?” 

It’s hard to swallow past the lump in Aaron’s throat. Hard to make any sort of noise. He shakes his head in denial instead, even though he knows it won’t do him any good. 

“Aaron,” Paddy insists and Aaron knows that he will have to say something. 

That he will have to do something. Like… pull away his arm and grab his clothes. Or put some distance between himself and Paddy before the situation got entirely out of control. But instead he sits frozen in his bed, the duvet pooling around his middle and his arm stuck out in front of him. He’s trying to think but his thoughts just spin and spin, leaving him with nothing. 

“Did you… Aaron, did you do this to yourself?” 

This is the moment when Aaron needs to lie. The moment when he needs to make up a story to explain the marks, something believable enough to make that horribly appalled look on Paddy’s face go away. Instead he just stares up at the man – _at his step-dad_ , his treacherous brain fills in – and, of all things, he finds himself nodding. 

“Oh,” Paddy says. _“Oh.”_

He sits down on the side of Aaron’s bed, causing the mattress to dip. His fingers go limp and Aaron pulls his arm away. He reaches for his long sleeved t-shirt – the one he ought to have gone to bed in, only it had been warm and it had been late and he hadn’t been thinking – and means to drag it over his head. 

“No, wait,” Paddy says. “You can’t, no, no, that could get infected, it could, just… wait.” 

And then he’s gone, through the door and across the hallway to the bathroom. Aaron sits still, white-knuckling the fabric in his hands, until Paddy returns with a first aid box. Then he stays still as Paddy washes his arm, cleaning away yellow crusts and applying burn gel over the blisters. 

“Normally, in my line of job, this is where I would fit you out with a cone collar, but I don’t think your mum would approve,” Paddy says as he secures the bandage. When neither one of them smile at the joke he continues in a weak voice: “Just… try not to pick at it, alright? If we can keep the blisters from breaking, there’ll be less of a risk of infection. Less risk of scarring too, I think.” 

“I don’t think one scar more or less will matter,” Aaron points out, suddenly finding his voice. 

Paddy flinches at his words. Sits back up again, his hands falling down into his lap. 

“Is this, what you did to yourself, is it about yesterday?” he asks. “Did Sandra say something to upset you?” 

Aaron shrugs. 

“Is it about your dad?” 

He bites his lip. Shrugs again. 

“You can tell me, Aaron,” Paddy says. “Whatever happened, whatever’s making you feel this bad, making you feel like you have to hurt yourself. You can tell me.” 

Aaron feels something pushing against his throat. 

He has just enough time to think that he’s about to throw up all over his bed and Paddy’s lap, only instead of bile it’s a sound that tears out of his throat. A horrible sound, the kind an animal might make, and it’s obvious that Paddy recognizes it as such, because he makes a noise himself. A low shush, the kind that Aaron’s heard him use when working with scared and hurting animals. 

“You can tell me,” he repeats, in that impossibly kind voice of his. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

Only Aaron can’t because, between one breath and another, he finds himself crying. 

It’s the awful kind of crying, the kind that hurts, that rips through a body like a tornado, leaving bones and muscles aching with exhaustion. And Aaron, he can’t remember crying like that before, not for years and years. Not since Chas left. Not since he so desperately wanted his mum back and instead ended up losing his dad. 

“Ssh,” Paddy says again, and he’s big and warm as he wraps Aaron up in a hug. “Ssh, it’s alright. Just breathe, in and out. In and out. That’s a good lad. You can tell me later. You can tell me and then your mum and me, we’ll make it all better. You'll see. We'll get this sorted.” 

Later, Aaron thinks. And it feels like a promise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind feedback! <3 I rescued a snippet set in the same universe, though it takes place years later.
> 
> (What you maybe want to know is that Robert left the village as per canon, but then came back a couple of years later. He's estranged from his family, but works in the village as a mechanic, plotting and scheming and falling in love with his boss' chavvy nephew.)
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it!

They lay shoulder to shoulder in the grass, fingers brushing against each other in a way that makes Aaron's skin feel tight and tingly. The afternoon sun's hot above them, and the sky's blue and dotted with weirdly shaped clouds. The warm breeze carries with it the scent of dry soil and freshly trampled grass. 

He’s meant to be working, of course. They both are, but here they are instead, skiving off work together like two naughty kids.

"Two rabbits humping," Robert suggests as he points at a cloud that, to Aaron, looks like a lumpy potato.

He wears the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up, showing off muscled arms, and his skin’s tanned underneath flecks and smears of engine oil. Aaron longs to touch, but instead he folds his fingers into his palms, closing his hands into a fist. 

"What about that one?" he asks, pointing to the sky at random. 

He doesn't care much about the answer, but rather just wants the moment to last. Wants to lay there forever, watching the way that the sun glitters in Robert’s eyelashes. 

"That's a tough one," Robert says, squinting up at the sun. The skin around his eyes wrinkles, making him look like he’s ten years Aaron’s senior rather than just six. 

Aaron, never one to keep his dumb mouth shut, tells Robert as much. His words lead to a tussle; two pairs of arms made strong by hard labour, two pairs of jean-clad legs, two pairs of rough and blunt-nailed hands. In between grunting and cursing, they laugh. Robert's breath feels warm and wet against Aaron’s neck and Aaron's face aches from smiling too much and too wide. Eventually, the scuffle comes to an end with Aaron pinned to the ground with Robert straddling his hips. 

It's not a bad place to be. Or at least, it oughtn't be. 

Aaron likes to think that if only he was halfway right in the head, then caught between Robert’s long legs -- the other man’s body warm and hot and real against him -- would be the perfect place to be. Only, Aaron’s _not_ half-right in the head, never has been, so instead his messed-up brain chooses that very moment to seize up. And so he goes from flushed and happy to sweaty and panicky in no time at all. 

_"Gerroffme,"_ he hears himself rasp out, the words spilling out of his mouth like a sudden bout of vomiting, the syllables slurring together into a single breathless string of sounds. Robert obeys without a word of protest, but the tightness in Aaron's chest doesn't lessen. If anything it gets worse, squeezing tighter and tighter until he's kneeling in the grass, panting like he's run a mile and a half. 

"Here," Robert says, pressing a lukewarm can into Aaron's hand. 

The beer’s warm and cheap so it's not much of a loss when Aaron spills most of it down the front of his t-shirt. White-knuckling the can – feeling it dent under his fingers – Aaron tries to shift his attention from the storm inside his head to the world outside. Tries to remind himself that, around them, it's still summer. The sky's still blue, the sun’s still shining and Robert's, somehow, still there with him. 

"Alright, mate?" Robert asks. 

"Do I seem alright to you?" Aaron demands, grateful for the swell of irritation in his chest. Robert – who’s maybe also not quite right in the head, what with his dead mum and strict dad and too-perfect big brother – grins. 

"Never have," he assures Aaron. "Lucky for you, you're well-fit." 

And Aaron’s sweaty and shaky and the world’s still not quite right. Some bits too fuzzy, others too sharp. But even so, he imagines that in that moment he can see Robert perfectly. Can see him for who he truly is, beyond the smirking mask and the clever words. 


End file.
